


To Lose

by exhaustedwerewolf



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Don't erase your memories kids, Downward Spiral, POV Second Person, i don't know how to tag this i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhaustedwerewolf/pseuds/exhaustedwerewolf
Summary: You're barely out of your teens when you're told that your father is gone for good, but you've known it for a lot longer.





	

**LOST**

**/lɒst/**

**_adjective_ **

**unable to find one's way; not knowing one's whereabouts.**

 

The two of you are meandering home under the cloud streaked skies, and he hesitates on the street corner. A car reels past slowly, like a gentle exhale, like the sound of a wave crashing against the shore.

You might not have noticed, had your hands not been clasped together, had he not been recounting an amusing tale about his research partner, only for his voice to waver, just a little.

He doesn’t turn his head, but his stride falters, his eyes swivel; left, right, before he brings his free hand to his forehead, as if to say _Silly me,_ and the pair of you cross the road.

The whole thing lasted a second.

You forget all about it within five minutes.

 

**unable to be found.**

 

You’re sitting up at the kitchen counter, swinging your legs against it, listening to your father talk. Bright, unapologetic sunlight streams through the open window, casting the room in a golden glow. His back is to you as he attends the stove, and if you breathe in, you are met with the tantalizing smell of frying eggs, bacon on the grill.

He’s rambling on about some science thing, and you haven’t understood ten words in as many minutes, but you can’t bring yourself to mind, in the Sunday morning haze. You can’t bring yourself to mind, seeing the reflection of his smile in the tiles, as he stretches up to take a plate down from the cabinet.

It takes you a few moments, then, to realise when he trails off, and stands, clutching the plate to his chest absently.

“Dad?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“Hm?” He responds, turning, the light flashing on his glasses, and you can’t make out his expression.

“You were talkin’ ‘bout the new project.” Your prompt him, and he sighs, setting down the plate.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching over to try to brush the hair out of you eyes.  “I must’ve lost my train of thought.”

 

**unable to understand or to cope with a situation.**

 

He’s still at his desk when you pass by the open door, staring unseeingly at a tangle of equations and formulae, his head in his hands. The sound of a ticking clock reverberates like a pulse, and you’re hesitating when he glances up.

“Pa, you’ve been at that all day.” You say, because you’ve got to say something. “You should take a break.”

He pushes back from the desk, and shoots you a rueful smile.

“Always the voice of reason, ain’t cha Tate?” He shakes his head, just a little. “You’re right, I’m completely lost.”

You wait, scuffing a foot on the floorboards, and he stretches, and rises from his chair.

“C’mon Tate,” He switches on the light in the hall as he exits the room, steering you in the direction of your own. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You wonder how he was able to study blueprints like that in the dark.

Rubbing your eyes in the sudden, harsh light, you are led down the corridor. The floorboards groan underfoot.

 

**that has been taken away or cannot be recovered.**

 

“How could you forget?!” You can feel your voice rising uncontrollably, hot tears stabbing at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t care, don’t _want_ to care. You’re angry- furious, incensed, and all he’s doing is _standing_ there, watching you with his jaw tightly clamped shut, a slight twitch to his lip that you can’t take your eyes off.

“This was important to me!”

“Don’t you care at all?”

“You’re always forgetting stuff like this!”

He doesn’t try to apologize. People pass, branching and rejoining smoothly as river water, and they look pointedly, politely away.

 

**(of time or an opportunity) not used advantageously; wasted.**

 

You’ve only just taken on the endeavour, just dusted your hands together, faced the landscape of piled cardboard boxes, and you run across his old stuff almost immediately. You can’t find an inch free of circuit boards or blueprints or hastily written notes. The air smells thickly of dust and dirt and disappointment.

A crash echoes from the house, and you don’t go as quickly as you’d like to admit.

 

**having died or been destroyed.**

 

“I’m afraid your father has lost his mind, Mr McGucket.”

You stare at your fingers, curled in your lap. You dig your fingernails into the palms of your hands.

The doctor is still talking; _we can’t be sure yet but it could be early onset-dementia or-_ but he’s lost you. It’s static in your ears, white-hot and painful, and the solemn black lettering on the detached paperwork trembles and blurs, and you can’t focus on a thing no matter how hard you try, can’t bring yourself to see what’s in front of you.

You stand up and leave the office without thinking the decision through.


End file.
